


What do you mean you don't care?

by rhysiana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (no actual references to S5 events in this), Depression, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, S5 Needed So Much Fixing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:53:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16832104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhysiana/pseuds/rhysiana
Summary: Call Stiles. That was all the text said, from a number Derek didn’t have programmed into his phone, though that hardly served to narrow anything down; he could count the names in his phone contacts list on one hand.





	What do you mean you don't care?

**Author's Note:**

> Moving Tumblr ficlets over for posterity. This one was in response to the prompt: "'What do you mean you don’t care? from the angsty list, for Sterek." I went with S5-based angst, because there was so much to work with, and I spent all of that godforsaken season waiting for someone to tell Derek to come back for Stiles.

_Call Stiles_. That was all the text said, from a number Derek didn’t have programmed into his phone, though that hardly served to narrow anything down; he could count the names in his phone contacts list on one hand.

He debated calling the mystery texter back, just to confirm who it had been (Scott, he assumed, but on the other hand, would Scott ever actually contact him?) and maybe interrogate them for context, but he realized it didn’t matter. He’d already thumbed over to Stiles’ number before his brain consciously caught up with the thought.

“’lo?” Stiles mumbled into the phone after the fourth ring.

Derek checked the time, wondering if he’d screwed up time zones again, but no, Stiles was _west_ of him, it would be earlier there, not later… “Stiles? Did I wake you? Are you okay?”

“D’rek?” There was rustling from Stiles’ end of the line and then his voice came through clearer. “Am I dreaming? I can’t always tell these days.”

Terror shot through Derek at the thought the nogitsune had returned, and he reminded himself that was impossible. Even in Beacon Hills. Besides, he would have heard about that. Surely. “No, not dreaming. It’s me.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Stiles asked, sudden panicked urgency putting the life into his voice Derek realized had been missing ever since he picked up.

“I’m fine, Stiles! I’m fine. Nothing’s wrong.” _Not with me, anyway_.

“Oh.” And just like that, Stiles was back to flat. “Why did you call, then?”

Derek knew better than to say someone had told him to. This strange, affectless Stiles would be certain to take it the wrong way, and anyway, Derek was suddenly angry with himself that this was what it had taken to get him to call Stiles in the first place. He’d certainly thought about it often enough. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Why?” No curiosity sparked behind the question, just exhaustion. The clear knowledge he was expected to contribute to the conversation.

Derek’s gaze caught on the TV remote and he grabbed for it. “I was bored. Needed help choosing a movie to watch before bed. Wanna help me pick?” He flipped through the hotel’s scant menu quickly and rattled off the options. Several of them were so awful even _he_ knew. He found himself looking forward to Stiles’ incoming scathing commentary.

“Oh, any of those sound good. I don’t care.”

Derek stabbed the button to turn off the TV and sat up straight. “What do you mean you don’t care?”

A sigh gusted across the speaker. “Whatever you want, Derek. Look, man, it was good to talk to you, but I should… I should go.”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek barked into the phone, knowing it came out too loud, too harsh, but he couldn’t let him hang up like this, he couldn’t.

“What?”

“What is wrong with you?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m fine. Everything’s fine, Derek. It’s fine.”

“Stiles, never once in the entire time I’ve known you have you not _cared_ about something. You care about _everything_. You always have an opinion.”

Finally, something seemed to snap in Stiles. “God, Derek, what do you want from me? Do you seriously want me to tell you what movie to watch? It doesn’t matter! Watch whatever you want! I don’t—I can’t believe that’s why you called me anyway. Either tell me what you want or leave me alone!” The outburst seemed to drain away as suddenly as it had started. “I just want everyone to leave me alone…” he trailed off, sounding muffled again.

“Stiles? Stiles.”

“What?”

“I’m getting in the car now. I’m coming to you.”

“No, don’t…”

“You said you didn’t care, so you don’t get a vote. Stay on the phone. You’ve got to keep me awake while I drive, okay? That’s your job. Can you do that?”

The confusion in Stiles’ answering not-quite-silence was palpable.

“Come on, Stiles,” Derek pressed. “I need you. Tell me you can do this for me.”

He heard a sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line as he jammed t-shirts and toiletries back into his duffel bag and decided anything else he might be leaving behind wasn’t important anyway.

“Yeah, Derek, I can do that.”


End file.
